Peony Wishes
by Yessica-N
Summary: On the cusp of winter, Snufkin finds himself stuck with an odd traveling companion while he travels south who might end up stirring some forgotten memories.
1. Chapter 1

**oh boy, where do I start with this one? Well, since this site doesn't use tags, how about some warnings first:** **Mentions of PTSD, Non-verbal characters, trauma, mentioned (child) abuse/neglect and**** panic attacks.**** Hope you enjoy the story! ^^**

* * *

The forest was like a stranger to him.

It felt too alive, full of scents and sounds that had long since become unfamiliar. The foreignness of his surroundings was worrying, but the darkness was recognizable enough. Everything beyond formed a muddled cacophony of stimuli he wouldn't try to decipher.

There was blood running down his arm. The torn muscle throbbed, protesting his movements but still he wouldn't stop, his feet carrying him ever forward in uncoordinated steps and struggles. His legs got tangled in something, it pulled at the remains of his clothes and he pulled back, harder, sharper. The branches had thorns that cut into his skin.

They were not on his trail anymore. He was unsure of how he knew, his senses have become duller and more narrow than they used to be, put to other uses than that which they were originally meant for - hunting and playing and living, instead of the pure survival instinct coursing through his veins right now.

But he knew still, there were no footfalls or hurried breathing beside his own. Small creatures skittering endlessly between the leaves or the undergrowth, but no baying of something bigger and more dangerous, tracking him by the splashes of blood in his wake.

He was getting tired though, the strain nearly unbearable, and staying out in the open would be a death sentence.

He found a hollow, a small space just fit for somebody of his current stature and, making himself even smaller than he did with them, curled himself up in the tight space, his body heat the only buffer against the slowly chilling air.

* * *

Winter was coming on strongly this year. Snufkin had only left Moominvalley a few weeks ago, first trailing south for several days until he was certain he had gone far enough to be in warmer climates. Then, he had done what he usually did on his excursions - pick a direction by some arbitrary rule like which way the wind blows or how many minnows swim down the stream and start walking.

Even so, despite being miles away from the sea and surely already far enough inland to avoid the frightful breezes such a large body of water usually harbored, it was getting colder. The air felt chillier than usual, more often than not Snufkin found the woods quieter and more deserted than he was accustomed too, most smaller animals having already gone into hibernation for the season.

The notion had him thinking fondly of his friend, probably tucked away into his comfy bed by now, dreaming about some summer adventure or another. One they had undertaken in those past few months perhaps, or an entirely new one yet to come.

He pulled his scarf up over his face in some embarrassment, despite there being nobody around to witness it. Snufkin didn't like letting his thoughts stray such paths, especially not when he was so far out from the valley anyway.

He busied himself with other things instead, like where he should sleep this night or what his new song should be about. He probably had months yet to figure that out, but Snufkin was a creature of leisure and often liked to take his time to get things done. He had found there was rarely an occasion where true hurrying was required. And if there ever was, it lay outside the extents of his interests.

A sudden intrusion pulled him out of his thoughts, a sound that didn't belong. It was soft, barely a whimper, but he had keen hearing, one of the many reasons large crowds of people didn't often sit well with him, and so it stood out to him clearly against the more peaceful twittering of the birds among the branches or the flowing of the brook not far-off.

For a few moments, he waited, curious. There was nothing unusual to be heard anymore, and Snufkin was just beginning to think he might have been imagining things, what with the daydreaming and all, when another, slightly louder noise startled him.

He followed its general direction with ease, pushing branches out of the way and stepping carefully through untamed undergrowth, and the air smelled funny, kind of stale and metallic.

It smelled like blood.

In a small clearing up ahead there was a partly hollow tree trunk, the depth of which Snufkin was unable to determine by mere observation alone. All he knew was that it wasn't empty. That something alive and scared and most likely wounded had taken it as its refuge.

Putting down his bag, taking a few steps at a time, Snufkin slowly approached the make-shift shelter. The light was dim, the sun setting blindingly red these days and painting the sky with the colors of fresh flowers, but he could still make out the shape of something curled up inside the hollow. The ground in front was streaked with nearly-dried blood.

He blinked, and two curiously bright eyes blinked back at him.

"Hello there," he tried softly, crouching onto the ground with one hand braced against the earth to keep his balance, fingers brushing against a spread of dead leaves. The creature didn't stir, but regarded him with weary eyes.

Snufkin was unsure of what it was, certainly not a Creep since those tended to make a lot more noise, especially when injured. It moved slightly, the unmistakable sound of claws dragging against the inside of the tree, getting caught on the tiny snags in the wood. Since it didn't talk it was most likely an animal then, perhaps a stray cat.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, a rhetorical question of course since he already knew the answer, but even less intelligent creatures normally responded well to a friendly voice, and Snufkin had gotten into the habit of talking to the various inhabitants of the forest (not because he was lonely. The opposite in fact, since being able to talk without some kind of response was proof of his solitude more than anything else).

He waited for a bit, seeing if the little thing could be coaxed out with patience, but when that didn't seem to work he reached into his pocket. There were just a few pieces left, all crumbled up and he held them out on an upturned palm, waiting for the creature's natural instincts for food to outweigh its hesitation.

"They're good, I promise," he said, lowering the cookies slightly, "Though not terribly healthy I'm afraid." Moominmamma had baked them the same morning he left the valley and had naturally refused to let him go without a small stockpile to serve as provisions on the long road.

Still though, the poor thing seemed too caught in a stupefied state to accept them, practically oozing mistrust. When his arm started to hurt from holding it up for too long Snufkin sighed and shoved the crumbs back into his coat pocket. "I guess you're not hungry."

The sun had dipped below the horizon at an almost alarming rate, the daylight all but gone suddenly. Normally Snufkin didn't mind continuing his journeys through the night, sometimes he preferred it that way, only settling somewhere if he really liked it.

But today had been rather tiring, and as such he decided here would do just fine. He strolled back to his bag and set about putting up his tent and making a fire. The creature observed him in quiet speculation, not making any more noise.

He had been fishing yesterday and there were two of his catches leftover, rolled up in paper to keep them from dirtying up his few other possessions. Snufkin cooked them both, looking over at the tree trunk from time to time to gauge if the smell would be enough to lure the strange animal out of hiding, but it sat unmoving, burrowed deep into the hollow.

Just one of the fish served him well enough for dinner, so he left the other one on the ground in front of the hole before crawling into his tent and trying to get some sleep.

The next morning the fish was gone. Either Snufkin had slept exceptionally deep or the creature was a lot more silent in movement than he had expected. There were fresh splotches of blood among the disturbed foliage, deep red drops hardly visible against the similar autumn hues.

"You're hurt," he said matter-of-factly, crouching in front of it once more, "You want any help with that?" He reached one hand forward into the darkness.

It made a noise then, high-pitched and angry and Snufkin barely pulled back in time when it lashed out with sharp claws, swiping at the air.

He laughed. "Guess not."

The morning was still fresh, with dew on the grass and a slight breeze. He took out his fishing gear and went the short way to the brook, settling on a rock and enjoying the general peace and quiet of the end of the season.

With winter being uncommonly fierce this year, maybe he should consider going more southwards still? It would be interesting, and as long as he kept counting the days of the journey he could make sure he would be back in the valley by the first days of spring.

There wasn't technically any pressing need for him to make it so, of course. But he had an obligation to Moomintroll, and others were always so certain to remind Snufkin of how much his friend missed him when he was late in coming home. Coming back, that is.

He tugged at the line, feeling it snag on something solid. Even bracing his feet against the muddy soil and pulling with all his might didn't dislodge it, so he found himself wading into the shallow instead. The water was practically freezing and Snufkin's hands were numb by the time he managed to untangle the hook, wetness seeping into his boots.

Returning to camp quickly, luckily there was still enough wood left to rekindle the fire. He took off his boots and put them upside down near the crackling flames, warming his hands as well. The creature stirred for a moment but settled again and watched him.

As soon as he could feel his fingers again, Snufkin took out his harmonica, deciding he might as well play something to while away the time. He started with the previous spring song he wrote, hoping it would inspire him for the new one. Then, Moomin's favorite, and in his head, he could easily picture the troll singing the words with him, about tails and bows and jails.

Eventually, he just played whatever came to mind, something soft and comforting. The wounded animal in the tree shifted again, and for a moment Snufkin thought it might come out, but no such thing happened.

When his boots were finally dry and the sun sat high in the sky, he started packing up his things. It went quickly, because there just wasn't a lot, and then he left the bag in the middle of the clearing to approach the hollow one last time. In the light of day, he could see the creature had retreated deeper into its hiding place, though its eyes remained remarkably visible and bright.

"If you're sure you don't need any help, I'm leaving now," he said softly, and the thing didn't make a noise but cocked its head questioningly. Snufkin was sure that would be the end of it, but as he took a step back, the animal shuffled forwards slightly. Another step, followed by more shuffling.

Then suddenly, it sprang forward. He stumbled back a bit, startled by its quick movement. For a thing that was grieviously injured and had lost a lot of blood, it was surprisingly nimble. He watched in silent trepidation as it unfurled to its full height, pulling more and more of itself out of the hole.

It was a lot larger than Snufkin had anticipated, making him wonder distantly how it had managed to even curl up in such a way as to fit in the tree trunk at all. It raised itself up slowly then, stretching in such a way that made it seem as if the mere movement hurt, but as it did he could see its height was similar to his own, give or a take a few inches.

More than that, it was human.

Or humanoid, at least.

In stark contrast to Snufkin himself, who could (and certainly often would) be mistaken for a human most of the time, as long as he kept his hat on and his tail tucked under his coat, this man had a distinctly human shape but it was also clear to see that this was where the resemblance stopped.

His eyes were pale fire, burning and intense in hues of blue and grey. He stared now, cautiously, as if assessing the situation calmly and with some detachment, deciding on the next best course of action.

On his face, covered by an ill-matched array of various small scars, were curious markings and there was fur covering his bare feet and bloodstained hands, the claws that had lashed out at Snufkin earlier.

Snufkin waited, either because he didn't know what to do or because he was curious about what would happen, he wasn't certain which. The stranger stood for a few seconds, his gaze drifting around the small clearing, before finally focusing on the boy in front of him.

Then, his knees promptly buckled and he toppled over onto the ground.

Snufkin cried out, kneeling down in front of the man, who didn't make any sounds, but it was plain as day that he was in considerable pain. He was bleeding from various wounds, seeping into his disheveled and torn clothing. His arms and legs seemed to have taken the brunt of the abuse, with lingering cuts and bruises of various sizes in sickening colors. The scars on his face looked similar in nature but older, like they had been inflicted a long time ago. The front of his crumpled button-up shirt was also dirty and bloody.

"Hey," Snufkin tried to reach out and the man growled at him, a low guttural sound. He had braced himself on his elbows, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. Snufkin could see he had sharp canines, larger and more dangerous than his own fangs. "Don't do that," he said firmly.

The man glared at him for a moment, probably judging whether this new situation was a threat. Apparently, he didn't think Snufkin was of particular danger to him because he stilled, expression becoming neutral again, blinking up at him. His tail swayed from side to side cautiously though.

"That's better," Snufkin said, for he was not terribly frightened. He had been bitten by worse things than half-feral tramps roaming the woods before. Little My, for instance.

Upon closer inspection, the rest of the stranger didn't seem much better off than his clothes. Even beneath several layers of dirt, his face looked gaunt. His ribcage was fragile, every breath fluttering in his chest unsteadily. His limbs were lanky and tense. Snufkin could only wonder how long he had been out here. Maybe he had a hard time finding food in the wild?

"Will you sit still so I can patch you up, at least?" He didn't wait for a response, getting up to go and search his bag for first aid supplies. He thanked the stars for the Moomin family once again. Just a few years ago Snufkin would probably not have anything with him, making do with whatever nature supplied. After Moomin had found out though, and he had been very horrified by the thought of his best friend traveling all winter without so much as a bandage on him, he had pretty much forced the Mumrik to at least pack the basics.

The man had taken his time in painstakingly pushing himself up into a seated position, though still hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He stared at Snufkin as he went about wetting a stray piece of cloth with water from his flask.

"This will probably hurt," he warned but the stranger didn't say anything. He wasn't even looking at him anymore, seemingly having dismissed him as a threat altogether now and carefully scrutinizing their surroundings. When he looked up at the sun, he squinted, as if unaccustomed to the brightness.

Snufkin didn't comment, paying attention to what he was doing. The man didn't pull away from his touch or lash out at him again, ignoring him. When the worst of the dried blood was dealt with and the man's visible wounds were relatively clean, Snufkin bandaged them carefully, as well as he knew how to. He hadn't treated much worse than a scraped knee or shallow cut on himself.

"What about," he began, reaching out towards the man's chest area. His clothes would suggest larger and perhaps more serious wounds underneath the fabric. But the stranger shot up one hand that caught him around the wrist, stopping all movement. The grip was firm, just on the painful side of too firm really, and Snufkin tried not to wince.

For just a second the man looked him in the eyes, slitted pupils examining his face closely. Then he pushed Snufkin's wrist back towards him and let go, making himself perfectly clear without the use of words.

As Snufkin righted himself, the stranger angled his head up to watch him. His hair was long and badly kept, even by Mumrik standards, falling just below his shoulders and slightly greasy. It was a stark black color, in contrast to his light-toned irises. The new angle exposed the man's throat, which had a strange mark on it like irritated and raw skin. The result similar to what an animal would have, pulling hard and frequently on a collar, Snufkin realized, feeling the anger well up suddenly in his gut. He wasn't the type of person to let rage overtake him, but this-

"So, do you have a name then?"

Once more the creature's attention had drifted away from him, surveying the woods at large, the sun filtering through the branches above them and the final leaves falling to the ground from time to time. Even here, it would start freezing soon, and Snufkin didn't feel like being around when that happened.

He pulled at the brim of his hat, trying to collect his thoughts. Leaving this atypical fellow to roam the forest all by himself and most likely get into a bunch of trouble if not worse was probably not the responsible or sensible thing to do - and Snufkin had always thought of himself as pretty sensible, despite other people's opinions to the contrary.

On the other hand, he wasn't a babysitter (one brief mishap with a couple of young Woodies aside) and wasn't in the habit of taking traveling companions. That was kind of the entire point of his leaving the valley after all.

He didn't even like people.

"Look, I'm going further south," he said eventually, "It might be better for you to do likewise. If you stay here you will die."

The man looked up at him with the same blank expression he had been wearing from the moment they met (save the snarling that one time), giving no indication of having understood anything the boy had said. Maybe he spoke a different language?

Snufkin sighed. Ultimately, people weren't his responsibility or forte. "Safe travels."

He turned to leave, but didn't even get the first step down before he felt something pull at his coat. The man was clutching the fabric tightly, he was still averting his eyes but there was something desperate on his face now, the most Snufkin had seen him emote as of yet. Fear?

There went his chances of having a peaceful winter then.

"Maybe you would like to come with me?"

The man nodded carefully, letting go of the coat in favor of pushing himself off the ground. He held himself awkwardly, defensive, his body language betraying his mistrust. As if he was expecting to be set upon by some invisible enemy at any given moment.

"Can you talk at all?" Snufkin asked, putting all his effort into trying to smile reassuringly but it wasn't like the man was looking at him anyway. He did nod his head again though.

"I see. That's good." He started walking slowly and the man followed, hovering just in his peripheral vision. "I'm Snufkin, by the way."

The man opened his mouth and at first, the sound that came out was barely audible, strained and hoarse, like he hadn't used his voice in a very long time.

"J-Joxt-" It turned into a rasping cough, though it was likely more than physical strain keeping the words at bay, and he shook his head.

There was a sudden feeling of strangeness that befell Snufkin right then. A distant memory that shimmered right below the surface of his consciousness, like a dream you can't really remember the details of after waking up except that it was tragic somehow.

But it was gone just as quickly and he smiled instead, wondering why he felt as if he was forgetting something important.

"It's nice to meet you, Joxt."

* * *

**Tumblr: sharada-n**


	2. Chapter 2

**My girlfriend would like for me to share with you how I described this fanfic to her when initially talking about it: "Remember that episode where Snufkin accidentally adopts a bunch of children? This is the same except it's his dad he's adopting. And the Joxter adopts an unwilling Snufkin. It's a two-way adoption of disaster!"**

* * *

The boy had brown eyes. Dark, the kind of eyes that didn't really betray much of what he was thinking at any given time. He differed from them in that respect.

He didn't trust him. But survival was a strong urge, pulsating in his veins in tune to the pain from his wounds, and if this was something he had to bear it would be so. As soon as he was recovered enough he could always run. The boy didn't look very strong, or fast.

He looked soft. Cautious and independent, but soft.

Soft and familiar, in a sense he couldn't name. Like maybe there had been somebody vaguely like him once, long ago. Somebody with similar brown eyes.

He did not know. His memories had often failed him over the years, confined to dark corners of his mind like he himself was confined to the cell.

But follow, he could, for the sake of surival. Even if just for a little while.

* * *

The going after that was a lot slower than Snufkin would have liked.

When the goal was to cover ground, as was the case now, he was used to walking pretty significant distances in one stretch, only resting periodically to eat or sleep. Things like gathering food or firewood were done on the way, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Except for fishing, which he obviously only did sporadically and when a stream was at hand.

Only afterward, when he was satisfied with how far south he had come, would he fall back on the more meandering type of travel he preferred, straying from place to place and staying in a single spot for some time until it bored him and he'd need a change of scenery.

But the stranger, Joxt, was either not used to a lot of walking or he was still too gravely injured to allow for it. His pace was unhurried and often he got distracted by things, sounds or movements. He seemed almost unfamiliarly fascinated by everything.

Several times Snufkin would notice he was alone. Then he would find himself retracing his steps only to see Joxt had stopped suddenly and was staring intently at something or another. Calling out to him was met with silence and only physically approaching him would snap him out of his daze. Snufkin wasn't very used to being ignored and was unsure how to feel about it.

He would be lying if he said it didn't cross his mind to abandon the poor guy mere hours after their impromptu alliance had been forged.

Snufkin was not an unfriendly person, he knew this about himself. But he was also acutely aware of a few very vital things. The most important of which was that safety in numbers was as much of a lie as anything, and traveling into unknown territory with a near-catatonic man who smelled strongly of blood and who might be an escaped fugitive was probably not his most sane move as of yet.

Then again, the possibility of Joxt being an escaped fugitive was probably just another reason as to why Snufkin _did_ want to help him.

"Here," he said, when Joxt had stopped yet again to peer into the thicket with a blank expression on his face, "How about you collect the wood while we walk, like this?"

Joxt took the offered branches without question and without looking at them. He was distracted by the scurrying of a squirrel among the trees.

"Wood from ash trees is best, but oak works just fine also," he told the man.

They resumed walking for a while, Snufkin was keeping an eye out for edible berries and the stray mushroom. He had to consider they needed food for two now.

Before long he noticed he was alone again and with a sigh, he started backtracking, though it wasn't very hard to follow the scent of blood on the wind. Obviously his sense of smell was a lot better than that of the average person, but there were things besides people in the woods also. Things with a lot more teeth and sharp eyes.

Joxt was sitting on the ground, the wood in a little pile at his feet. He had his eyes closed and legs stretched out in front of him. His body was shaking slightly, as if cold. Which wasn't very surprising, the shirt he was wearing was made of thin material and his pants were in tatters, leaving most of his legs bare. He was wearing neither shoes nor scarf. Snufkin watched him for a second before approaching.

"Come on, I have an idea." He held out his hand and Joxt looked at it silently, then got up without taking it.

* * *

"Do you think this will fit?"

He held the cape at arm's length. The fabric was coarse, a drab brown color. Joxt took it wordlessly before nodding and pulling it over his head. It was just slightly too small, reaching closer to the waist instead of down to his knees as it was meant to. But at least it would be warmer.

It looked worn too and Snufkin had a stray thought for the cape's owner, who would come into their garden soon to find their laundry line bereft of such a clearly well-loved piece of clothing.

"What about this?" he asked, handing over the straw sun hat that had been lying amidst the vegetables growing near the remote cottage. Whoever lived here plainly didn't think petty thieves would stray this far into the woods, and if they did they wouldn't be interested in stealing clothes. Any other day they would have been right.

Joxt put the hat on as well. It did a lot to conceal his more inhuman features, but not enough for Snufkin to consider parading into human villages with this man at his side. Not that he was planning on doing that either way.

They had found some new pants also, so Snufkin ripped up the old pair, turning his back to grant Joxt some privacy. The cloth could come in handy, and one thin strip he handed to Joxt. "For your hair. So it stays out of your face."

The man raked his claws through the mess on his head briefly, before dutifully tying his hair back. A proper haircut might have to wait until they found somebody half-way equipped at giving one.

"We still have a ways to go," Snufkin said, "Do you think you can manage like this?"

Another nod. Joxt's hands stuck out from beneath the frayed edges of the cape and they were stained with blood. They would have to do something about that too.

As they resumed their journey, Snufkin fell into the same cycle as previously. A couple of minutes of walking, then going back to look for Joxt zoning out somewhere. It was a lot more tiring than any other travel he had ever undertaken, including the treks up the Lonely Mountain with Moomin and their friends in summer. And those were downright exhausting.

By the time the sun was setting they couldn't have come more than a handful of miles.

They made their camp next to a river, after cleaning their hands in the freezing water. Snufkin pitched his tent while Joxt watched him, leaning against a nearby tree. He didn't seem to know anything about surviving in the open. Either that or he didn't care enough to help. While Snufkin was trying to start the fire, he left.

He was gone for at least half an hour, the sunlight slowly fading until the sky turned darkest blue, the moon a white crescent lying in the deepness and surrounded by small pinpricks of stars. Snufkin watched them for a bit, his breath forming small clouds in front of him as the warmth of the day cooled rapidly.

Then Joxt returned, with blood running down his face and a limp rabbit between his teeth.

"Ah," Snufkin said, because really that's about all you can say when a half-dressed, positively unkempt looking man walks up to you in the middle of the forest with a dead animal in his mouth. "D... did you catch that?"

Joxt blinked at him like he was stupid. Or maybe it was just a stupid question.

"How?"

But that too went unanswered. He approached, Snufkin leaned back instinctively and when the poor thing got dropped into his lap he didn't even blink. This might as well be happening.

"Thanks?"

Joxt rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood all over, expression as unreadable as ever.

At least they would be having a hearty stew tonight.

* * *

Traveling with a companion proved to come with a lot more technicalities than Snufkin had previously considered.

For example, where was Joxt going to sleep?

He had already firmly established he didn't need a lot of space to curl up in and rest. The hollow had barely been big enough for a smaller animal after all, but somehow he had made it work.

Snufkin's tent was a lot bigger than the hollow had been.

But when the night was well underway and he started undoing the laces on his boots, Joxt merely watched him do so before laying on his side next to the fire, with his back towards him.

Snufkin was quite relieved. He was still in the middle of getting used to the constant company as was, even if that company was mute and unresponsive, now at least he could revel in some solitude at night, alone in his tent.

He put his hat in the corner. The flowers along the rim were getting stale, Moomin had picked them for him near the end of autumn. Lilyturf and Hesperantha. He had to press them before they wilted completely. He dug into his bag to find the book, an old tome he read once. He couldn't exactly remember how the story went anymore, but the pages were too damaged by moisture to reread it.

Between the sheets of paper were all kinds of plants he had collected over the years. Mostly flowers, flat and dry and in muted colors, brown-ish because of their age but with just the barest hint of their original hue. Gifts from the valley. Also a few more exotic blossoms he had picked up from faraway places. Those weren't exactly for himself, they had little sentimental value, for memories were always more precious to him than any material possessions could hope to be.

But his friends were always so curious to know where he'd been during the winter, the kinds of places he visited. Stories were great but there was something sacred in bringing back a piece of his journey to share with them.

Moomin had liked them and so Snufkin had kept them and that was the end of that.

He put the new flowers between the pages too, then put his bag on top to serve as a weight, before rolling over to get some sleep.

* * *

He woke up to the sound of screaming.

For a few seconds Snufkin just laid there, utterly disoriented. His consciousness piecing itself back together in stuttering motions. It's winter, he's out in the woods, he's not alone anymore. Joxt is with him now.

Joxt.

He was scrambling for the opening, getting tangled in the blanket. He almost fell face first out onto the ground but grace wasn't exactly a concern right now.

Because Joxt was screaming.

He was still on his side, but curled up now, arms tucked in close to his body. The sound he was making was more strangled than anything, a low, abject noise that got stuck halfway up his throat.

Snufkin hesitated, mind empty. He realized with some horror that he had no clue what to do.

There was a fleeting second where he tried in vain to think back on a childhood he didn't remember - or never had. And what his parents or guardians would do if he had a nightmare. How they would comfort him.

He didn't know.

"Joxt?!" he tried desperately, knowing it wouldn't work but feeling useless otherwise. He grabbed one of the man's shoulders, shaking slightly. "Joxt, wake up. Come on now."

Joxt curled up tighter, closer, making himself smaller. Hiding away. He was trembling again but Snufkin knew it wasn't just from the cold this time, though it was certainly freezing tonight.

He shook harder, more insistent. Something too akin to panic made a pit in his stomach and crept up his throat, leaving it too hard for him to breathe. What in the world could he do?

"Joxt, please-"

The man jerked up with a start. The next moment Snufkin was on his back, leaves ciaght in his hair, his head bouncing painfully against the ground. Joxt hovered above him, his claw gripping at Snufkin's throat, holding him in place with a snarl. His blue eyes looked colorless in the pale moonlight.

They were looking right through him.

(This was how he died. And what a pitiful way to go it was, not even a soul to witness it. He never much feared death, but this was just downright miserable.)

Then Joxt's hold slackened. Recognition seemed to dawn on his face slowly, and it flashed with something almost apologetic, regretful. He let go completely.

Snufkin gasped for air for a moment, pushing himself onto his elbows and the other sat back and watched him. They stared at each other, the midnight breeze was cold and foreign.

"Was that necessary?" he forced out from his bruised windpipe.

Joxt had the same stoic expression on his face now as Snufkin had quickly come to expect of him, but the jerked swaying of a tail gave away his agitation. He stood up and Snufkin thought he might leave for real now.

Then he held out his hand.

Despite the obvious malnutrition and the frailty of his shape, Joxt pulled him to his feet effortlessly. Snufkin brushed the dirt from his shirt.

The air was so very cold, without his coat it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He looked at Joxt, who even with the extra fur probably felt it too. He looked shaken and unsteady.

"Did you want to sleep in the tent maybe?" And he didn't allow himself to think about it twice. Because the thought of sharing such an enclosed space with somebody didn't sound like his very worst nightmare, thank you.

Joxt seemed to consider it. Maybe he could sense Snufkin's innate discomfort at sharing his personal space and was weighing it against the very real possibility of hypothermia. And maybe a tiny part of the mumrik was wishing Joxt would just opt for the frostbite.

Then he crawled into the tent and Snufkin sighed before going in after him.

Much like before (and to his secret relief) Joxt was satisfied curling up in a corner, taking in very little space at all. Snufkin got under his blanket again, trying to get his muscles to be even a little less tense. It was hard, falling asleep when he was acutely aware of the presence of somebody else so nearby.

Sometimes Moomin and he had sleepovers, and while those were nice, certainly the part where they talked well into the night or played cards by candlelight, Snufkin never slept much on those either. Feeling too smothered by being indoors probably, but also being unable to with somebody else lying just a few feet away. This was much the same.

He laid awake, staring at the canvas of the tent until he could see the light of dawn filtering through the fabric. Then he got up, feeling like it was hopeless anyway. Joxt was asleep, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes were pinched uncomfortably.

At first Snufkin thought he might be having another nightmare - and silently vowed not to try and wake him again if he were - but noticing the way the man had curled up and held his arms, bracing them against his stomach, it was more likely that he was in pain instead.

The morning air was fresh and dewy, their proximity to the river sunk into Snufkin's skin and made him shiver. It proved to be useful now though, as there was indeed a willow growing on the bank not too far off, as he had hoped. Taking out his knife, mostly used for the preparation of food or the occasional whittling, he scraped some of the bark off the tree and collected it in his pockets.

Then he went in search of food. After such a dreadful night, luck seemed more on their side now as there was also an apple tree nearby. He could smell the slightly overbearing scents of the fruit, getting nearer to rotting than fresh now that it was close to the end of the season. But it would be better than nothing, and Joxt didn't strike him as a particularly picky eater.

When he got back the man was nowhere to be seen, presumably still sleeping. Snufkin didn't exactly relish the idea of disturbing his slumber after what happened earlier, so he didn't, simply waiting until Joxt turned up in his own time. He had expected a few hours at most, but it wasn't until noon and the sun sat high in the sky before he finally saw the other appear, bleary-eyed and yawning.

"I got breakfast," Snufkin said, indicating with a gesture the apples he had gathered, "Or well, lunch I guess."

Joxt smelled them wryly, making a face that clearly indicated he vastly preferred a more carnivorous diet, but then he started eating without further complaints. They sat in silence for a bit and it was almost nice.

"Got this also." Snufkin handed him the willow bark when he was done eating and when Joxt didn't show any sign of knowing what it was for he clarified. "Chew on it. It will help with your pains." The man glanced from him to the bark a few times. "It works, trust me."

Joxt nodded but still didn't do anything more.

"What are-" he stopped himself before finishing that sentence since it wasn't a yes or no question, Joxt wouldn't be able to answer anyway. Snufkin always preferred less talkative types but right now the lack of proper conversation with the person he'd be spending at least the foreseeable future with was getting rather tedious.

If only there was a way other than words so they could at least communicate the barest amount.

"I know," Snufkin perked up and Joxt startled out of the daze he had fallen back into, staring at the ground, mind elsewhere, "At the orphanage, there was a girl who could not hear. Sometimes she would talk with gestures. Maybe we could try that?"

Joxt took a moment to consider this, before nodding again.

"Unfortunately I do not recall exactly which signs she used, it was a complicated language all its own. But we could probably come up with our own. It doesn't need to be fanciful, just the basics right?" he said. It would be a work in progress, but nothing about this situation was ideal to begin with.

After a few moments and with another nod, Joxt held a fist against his chest and turned it in a circular motion. Snufkin blinked at him.

"That's," he hesitated, and in his mind, he was in the orphanage again. The stuffy rooms that always smelled of the vinegar the fillyjonk that ran the place used to clean and the way the windows didn't open properly. He distantly wondered what happened to that girl. "'Sorry'? It means 'sorry' right?"

Yet more nodding. Then Joxt pointed at Snufkin's throat, before performing the same gesture again. It clicked in an instant.

"Oh," he muttered, slightly awkward at having the ordeal brought up again, "For what happened last night? It's fine. You don't have to be sorry." He got up to start packing the tent. It was already midday and they should really get moving. "I'm more curious as to where you learned that."

Joxt shrugged. _I don't know_.

Snufkin hummed. "You're a mysterious man, Joxt."

And in the corner of his eye, he could just catch the corner of Joxt's mouth pull up in something that was almost a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

The boy did not seem concerned with covering their tracks. He could only assume this was a good thing, they probably didn't have any pursuers.

His mind wanted him to know it might be a trick. They had been malicious, fanciful, and quite fond of games. He had known only them for so long, he did not know what his worth to them was. How far they would go to ensure their possessions. He could not imagine them chasing after him this far, this long, but also did not know what he would do if they had.

They had chained him like a prized trophy.

He had pulled on the collar, always. He had ripped it off until they found a metal one with sharp edges and even then he had tugged against it until his breathing was cut off and his lungs grew sore. Until it had been permanently branded in his skin. They had merely laughed at his efforts. They were cowards.

But when it came down to it, he knew he would not let them collar him again.

* * *

Snufkin had never been as tired as he was now. It had been a few days, and while their progress during the sunlight hours had become slightly more agreeable and Joxt seemed a bit more present, his nights were spent awake and restless. Sometimes he would stare at the inside of his tent and try to focus on the uneven breathing of Joxt curled up in the corner, but more often than not that would only make him more uncomfortable, and instead, he would sit outside and look at the stars or count them. He had gotten to over a hundred once before he lost track of which ones he had already counted and which ones he missed, and he had to start over.

That first night he had subconsciously related the current circumstances to the sleepovers with Moomin, sometimes accompanied by their other friends, but now he wasn't so certain. While he was typically the last person to fall asleep on those and the first person up at the break of dawn, at least he had slept some. There was something different about this whole situation that bothered him, Snufkin just couldn't pinpoint what and there was little time to think it over thoroughly when the air was still too cold and the ground too hard with frost, winter now an inescapable threat.

How far south had they come, really?

Snufkin didn't have any maps. He found them to be unnecessary at best (and plain bothersome at worst) and often he just went where he wanted anyway and figured the rest out later, not even bothering learning the names of the places he visited, with the exception of one or two places he might think useful to find again later.

"It's too cold," he mumbled to himself, and then because Joxt had looked at him he said louder, "It is unusually cold for this time of year actually. I wonder what the cause is."

Joxt looked up and pointed at the mass of clouds gathered above them, promising snow soon or at least a healthy amount of rain. He stopped and looked north, so Snufkin stopped too. The sky was dark and foreboding in that direction even more so.

"Yes, that's where the bad weather usually comes from. It's why we're traveling in the opposite direction."

Joxt shook his head and pointed again. Barely visible against the gray of the distance were the peaks of Lonely Mountain, capped with white and almost hazy in the midday gloom. Snufkin peered at them for a second. He was so very tired.

"You think it comes from the mountains?" he asked. Joxt nodded. "Well, we are going in the opposite direction of them too so that should be fine."

They resumed walking slowly. Snufkin felt very much like his entire head was filled with cotton and it was hard to concentrate. Which was awfully ironic, since this meant it was him who was zoning out now. Joxt didn't seem to mind much though. He also looked exhausted, despite sleeping a lot. He kept fidgeting with his clothes, Snufkin could only assume he was still getting used to them. Often his hand would wander up to his throat and pick at the skin, where the mark was healing badly. It was angry and red and while there wasn't any more bleeding it was sure to leave a nasty scar.

Had he been that kind of person, Snufkin might have asked him about what happened. There certainly had to be a harrowing story that ended up with Joxt alone and injured in the middle of the woods. However, those questions were for curious people who cared to pry into other people's business, not Snufkin who found that if you wanted to avoid being asked difficult questions of your own it always served you well to hold your tongue.

"Stop picking at it," he did say eventually when it became too hard to ignore, "You're going to make it worse." Joxt raised an eyebrow at him. Snufkin scoffed. "Worse than it already is I mean. Come here." He pulled on the man's sleeve and put down his bag. Joxt had not shunned away from his touch as badly anymore since that first night and Snufkin saw it as a small victory at least.

They were running low on bandages now since he had redressed the wounds on Joxt's arms and legs a few times over the course of the last days. But they were mostly healed now so he used what remained to cover up the wound left by the collar. It still filled Snufkin with irrational anger more than anything, something that he could hardly explain but was very similar to his brawl with the park keeper a few years back. When he was done it looked a bit like Joxt was wearing a white scarf, the edge of the bandages resting just below his chin and ending above his collarbone. Snufkin never found out about the other wounds along Joxt's chest, but they apparently stopped bleeding too so that should be fine. The bruises were turning greenish-yellow with time and the willow bark had helped with the pain as well.

"We'll get new ones," he said, considering first that it might wait until spring but then on second thought being too aware of the reality that they might need them again soon. Joxt looked exactly like the kind of person that often got himself into trouble. Snufkin didn't have the best track record himself when it came to that, though nothing as serious. "There should be villages near here."

The comment made Joxt stop, jaw set tight and muscles straining. Snufkin didn't know what to do so he didn't do anything. After a moment it passed and neither of them gave any indication it had happened or what it meant. He was about to start walking when Joxt grabbed the hem of his coat again, which had quickly become his go-to method of catching Snufkin's attention. He was bracing his free hand against his stomach.

At first Snufkin recalled his thought from a few minutes earlier and assumed it had something to do with those other injuries, but Joxt's hand was positioned too low for that. "Oh," he said. This wasn't the first time this happened in the course of their short acquaintance of course. "I'll wait here then."

He watched the other disappear between the trees with a yawn, before sitting down against a nearby tree to wait. Joxt had the tendency to take his time with anything he put his meager efforts into, which wasn't really much besides basic bodily functions and the occasional hunting, though that too was mostly to serve his hunger. At least they wouldn't have to worry about starving this winter.

And what a strange winter it would be. Snufkin tipped his head back to watch the sky again, the bare branches a frame filled with dark clouds. He couldn't remember the last time this season had been so fierce and if he didn't know himself any better he might start to be envious of Moomin and his family, who slept so easily through the cold and snow. He had tried that, the first winter after meeting the troll. He hoped that the folk tales were true though and this would mean a more plentiful spring next year.

His eyes had closed automatically and really he didn't feel like opening them again. He doubted they could go as far south as the sandy places, but they might be able to outrun the worst of the hail. Maybe if it became warmer Joxt would go back to sleeping outside too and Snufkin could finally get some rest at night. He was so tired.

Moomin would be sleeping already, surely.

* * *

He isn't sure what woke him up. It wasn't a noise, something sudden and intrusive. It was slower, like the sun shining in your eyes and pulling you from sleep inch by inch. He scrunched up his nose and it smelt like fire. Snufkin forced his eyes open and sat up, the tree bark had dug into his back unpleasantly but aside from that, he was pretty comfortable. Not cold either, he observed, because somebody had opened his bag and taken out his blanket, covering him with it. Joxt was roasting something over the fire he had built. It was dark, but behind him, Snufkin could make out the yellow shape of his tent, fully upright.

"Did you rummage through my stuff?" he asked, though he sounded more drowsy than actually affronted. Joxt stared at him blankly. He never responded to questions that had too obvious an answer. Instead, he touched three fingers together and brought them to his mouth.

"Yes, I can see that," Snufkin responded, "Which is great, but still." He got up and folded the blanket. It was hard to judge how long he had been asleep but it was clearly night now which meant Joxt would want to sleep too. He considered the fire and then the tent. "I was under the impression you didn't know how to do these things."

Joxt turned the meat around, making sure it cooked evenly on all sides. He always left it too raw for Snufkin's tastes but was clearly trying to be considerate. He seemed to think over the remark for a moment, maybe he didn't want to answer truthfully, before pointing at his eyes and then at Snufkin.

"You watched me do it?" Snufkin confirmed and Joxt inclined his head, "That's clever."

They ate in silence, before Joxt retired to the tent to sleep. Snufkin stayed outside, not feeling like bothering with even attempting to sleep tonight. Fortunately, the nap actually helped and he didn't feel as tired as before. He watched the constellations instead, half-hidden behind clouds, and named them in his head. The north star was big and bright in the black mass that formed the sky and he didn't know if that was a good omen or a bad one.

* * *

They could hear the village before they could see it. It was the distant sounds of civilization that Snufkin had grown rather unfamiliar with. The valley was a peaceful place with houses spread far and few in between. Often your nearest neighbor would still be a short walk away, if not out of sight completely. It had been a long time since he last set foot in a place where people lived so close together.

But humans were rowdy, far more confident when living in close proximity to others of their kind, and far more sociable too than any other creatures (and therefore a whole lot more sociable than mumriks, who by nature took to a more withdrawn lifestyle).

Joxt had noticed it too, and Snufkin sensed a sort of nervous tension from him that was more than he had felt from him at any other point. They went as far as the outreaches of the village, which luckily was smaller than Snufkin had predicted. Just a few dozen houses clustered together near the edge of the woods, with well-worn paths stretching into the meadows beyond, which meant there were probably more abodes still further on, or even proper farms.

Here Joxt stopped, regarding the houses with a passive face, though everything about his stance betrayed his underlying mistrust. Snufkin couldn't exactly blame him. "You stay here," he remarked rather uselessly, "I won't be long." Joxt made a noise, something low in his throat that might have been a growl or maybe almost a whine. Snufkin patted his elbow. "Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it."

He pulled his coat down first, tugging his hat over his ears. Small town folk usually posed less of a problem than humans from bigger places did, but he would rather avoid any needless small talk or over-eager pleasantries. He didn't waste any time in locating the shop he had hoped to find, a smaller building with a copper plaque that boasted of homebrewed ale and liquor and that had wooden boxes full of fresh vegetables outside. The shop keeper was kind enough, pointing him towards a modest shelf full of rudimentary medical supplies. Snufkin decided on more bandages as well as a salve that supposedly treated both burns and bruises, something he could probably easily make himself during summer, but would be harder to find ingredients for this time of year.

Keeping his head down, he waited in line while the few other people bartered for their goods. A mother with a crying infant stood behind him, rocking her inconsolable child on her arm, the little one's face red from screaming its poor lungs out. The noise was grating and when the mother caught his gaze she smiled apologetically, holding the child closer and humming a song to it Snufkin vaguely knew. It seemed to help some, as it blinked up at her with tear-filled eyes, forgetting what had upset it in favor of the soothing melody.

The shop keeper was a middle-aged woman with greying hair and eyes that wrinkled at the corners, like she was used to laughing a lot. She smiled at him when he finally made it to the counter. "Trade or gold?"

"Gold," Snufkin mumbled, digging into his pocket for the few coins he earned last spring when he helped plant seeds for a hemulen in the valley who was rather fond of collecting and crossbreeding flowers. He had done it happily of course, since he looked like he needed the help, and didn't expect any payment. But the hemulen had refused to let him leave without a few coins for his troubles. Now he was quite thankful he hadn't tossed them into the nearest well, as was his usual custom.

"Not for you, I hope?" the lady inquired as she took his payment. Humans were always so curious.

"A friend," he answered.

She nodded thoughtfully, watching him through silver-rimmed glasses. "If you need any help with that we have a good healer here in town. I'm sure she'd be happy to-"

"No, thank you."

He left quickly, before she could give him any more unheeded advice.

Joxt wasn't waiting for him where he left him. Snufkin looked around nervously, hoping with all his heart that the man didn't go wandering alone and gotten himself in some kind of unpleasantness or worse, injured again, until he looked up and saw the source of his anxiety curled up on a tree branch, legs dangling on either side. He was watching Snufkin intently and seemed either relieved he had returned or maybe amused at his panic. Perhaps both.

"You're being very helpful." Sometimes sarcasm came naturally to him. Joxt aimed an acorn at his head. Snufkin sidestepped it easily. They left swiftly after that.

* * *

Snufkin tried sleeping in the tent again that night, only because the rain they had expected the day before finally decided to fall. He checked on his flowers first, shifting them between pages to make sure they would dry properly. Joxt lay on his side and blinked up at him. He made a simple gesture in front of his face that was hard to understand due to the angle, but after a moment it clicked into place.

"Yes, they're very pretty." Snufkin closed the book carefully. "Do you like flowers, Joxt?"

The man didn't answer but smiled. It reminded Snufkin of the woman in the shop, who grinned so widely it felt like she didn't care who saw her joy. And Joxt, who smiled thinly and modestly like he had forgotten how to. Or like he didn't want people to see.

He laid down, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Moomin smiled like that too, like the woman. It was curious, strangely warm and open but at the same time, it made Snufkin kind of sad. He wondered what he himself smiled like, what impression he left on others.

Quite lost in the thought, he hadn't even noticed Joxt had already fallen asleep until what was probably hours later, when he began tossing and turning uneasily. It was completely similar to their first night together and Snufkin sat up quickly, hands balled into fists. He really didn't want a repeat of that incident, even if it had left them both unharmed - if slightly disturbed. He could probably crawl out unnoticed and wait for the nightmare to run its course, but that felt cruel.

The idea was quick and stupid and he wanted to push it away so, so badly, because if it didn't work he would look like an absolute fool. He hesitated, the blanket pooling around his waist, and Joxt didn't make any noise this time but his nails were digging into his own palms, drawing blood. Snufkin didn't want to allow himself a second thought to reconsider.

His breathing was uneven so the first few notes came out wrong. He had to take a moment to settle and closed his eyes because that usually helped. Maybe if he pretended he was alone, playing for himself, it would be easier? The next few notes were better, though it was hard to control the volume. He didn't want to alert the entire forest to their presence, even if the downpour drowned out the music.

For the first minute or so nothing happened. Snufkin was about to give up, he knew that it was a long shot anyway, but then Joxt seemed to slow down, face creased and spine hunched and so very vulnerable. Snufkin hadn't realized which song he was playing, he hadn't paid attention really, but it was the tune the mother had hummed for her child at the store, he realized, slow and soothing and just a little melancholic.

Joxt had stopped tossing but his eyes were still closed, the pained expression etched into every feature. His tail twitched unconsciously; one arm curled around his chest. Snufkin kept playing, making up more of the song as he went along because he didn't know how it should go. After a while, he knew, even without looking, that Joxt had gone completely still again. He finished the song and opened his eyes.

Somewhere a bird call resounded among the trees as if to mourn the loss of the music that had so briefly interspersed the dead of night. Joxt was awake and staring at him, his eyes were soft and red-rimmed and-

"Oh," Snufkin breathed automatically, unbidden.

Joxt's eyes were wet with unshed tears.

Snufkin didn't know why he did what he did next. Maybe it was because he had already done one stupid thing tonight. Maybe it was because he hadn't slept properly in three days and was clearly going out of his mind with fatigue. Maybe he could blame Moomin for rubbing off on him.

He laid down again and used one hand to reach out. Joxt wavered for a moment, body stiff and unmoving. Then, ever so tentatively, he crawled closer. Snufkin's hand brushed against Joxt's elbow. He rolled over onto his other side and then he felt Joxt curl up too, so they were facing away from each other.

It was a strange position. Snufkin felt acutely aware of the back now pressed against his own. Their feet needed some adjusting, and if he tipped his head back he could feel Joxt's long hair brush his forehead. He was conscious of the man's breathing, shallow and uneven from the nightmare still, but slowing down as if comforted by the physical contact.

And it was warm. Even with the blanket now abandoned somewhere around their middle, sideways so it covered them both, the heat of their bodies seeped into each other. Snufkin closed his eyes again. He would never be able to sleep like this, of course.

He curled his hand around his harmonica, which he had forgotten to put away, and traced the holes of the instrument idly, counting them. The song had felt familiar and he didn't know why. He just knew it made him feel heavy-hearted. Maybe he had heard it somewhere before and related it to a past memory, merely one he couldn't figure out anymore. Which probably meant it wasn't that important.


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy birthday to me! I thought, what better way to celebrate than to update a story I accidentally left in hiatus for over a year... I promise I have every intention of finishing this**

* * *

In the loneliness of his cell, there were no things for him to get attached to.

There was darkness, the ages gone by more an illusion than anything. He could tell - by the growth of his hair or the sharpening of his claws - that it had been long, but a day or an hour had lost all meaning and no sunlight reached him from between cold crevices of stone.

There was food and water, brought to him at odd intervals. At times he had grown hungry enough to feel the pain of an empty stomach clenching around nothingness.

And there was them, with eyes of void and only grins. He had hated them more than anything and vowed that whatever happened, however they tried to break him, he would not let them win.

Now there was the boy, who played music full of nostalgic notes and smiled at the world as if it was kind. He needed to remind himself once again he would not get attached. He would rest and thrive and _live_. Until he was strong enough to find the unimagined things which far reaches of his memory were still looking for.

And then he would leave.

* * *

With the passing of time, they managed to outrun the cold weather.

It was a constant threat, a pulse of urgency always at the back of their minds. Joxt was too good at running for comfort, really. As his wounds healed – after several weeks of Snufkin applying the salve and switching the bandages – he became frighteningly swift and agile when the occasion called for it. Which wasn't very often as far as Joxt seemed to be concerned. He had gotten used to the long periods of walking, drifting off less with each day, but was still easily distracted and lazy by nature.

When it rained, he refused to go on. When he was hungry, he refused to go on. Or when he just felt like they had covered enough distance for one day, he would refuse to go on also, sitting himself down under the nearest tree and making himself cozy. Snufkin was more accustomed to walking for long stretches at a time and spread out over several weeks or months. In spring and summer, he would settle down and satisfy himself with roaming the valley in Moomin's company. But during his travels, sticking to the same place too long felt like a physical weight dragging him down.

It was an odd feeling. One he could not put into eloquent words but had been with him for as long as he could recall. Joxt shared the sentiment at least, just in a more eased fashion. He believed anywhere they could get today would still be there tomorrow. In certain terms, Snufkin supposed he wasn't wrong. And it's not like they were going anywhere specific.

At least the traveling had become easier for himself as well. Snufkin would never have thought to be described as the kind of person to enjoy constant company and truthfully – he still wasn't. He never was wont to get lonely or seek out other people. But there was something to be said for amiable silence, and traveling with Joxt felt oddly natural, for as far as that was anything Snufkin could name. They didn't talk a lot, but relished in the mutual company and the odd experience of nature changing forms.

There was probably a reason for that, but it was too distant to grasp, so Snufkin decided not to worry about it. Would it make a difference if he knew?

"I can see you're growing weary," he said, noticing the way Joxt started to drift. His bright eyes darted eagerly to scurries in the undergrowth and his hand was clasped to his stomach. It was not his wounds paining him anymore, Snufkin was quite sure of that. But for Joxt, hunger was often more unbearable than injury.

This man had an appetite that could rival even Sniff's.

Joxt blinked at him, then nodded before making a few quick gestures. Over the course of their traveling, while all other bruises and cuts had faded in color or become scars, Joxt's voice had still not returned. Snufkin had heard of it before, of wounds that were severe and invisible in nature and were not healed with time alone. He had begun suspecting Joxt's inability to speak was closer related to that than anything else, but he had no way to know for certain.

Their improvised manner of communicating had evolved far enough now for Joxt to be more understandable at least, including signs they had made up for themselves. _I hunt, you fire. _Snufkin couldn't help it if his face scrunched up at the arrangement, even if he knew it was for the better. The only river they managed to find for days now was too cold for fish to thrive in, instead, they walked closely along it to follow it downstream. Hunting would be their best way to get food. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"Find something else as well, please," he said. Joxt's facial expressions had grown on him but still remained more neutral than those of most folks. The request had the corner of his mouth perk up slightly. Snufkin knew the older man was endlessly amused by his distaste for meat – namely meat the way Joxt preferred to cook it, with soft sinew and blood still dripping from the flesh. At the next moment, he was already off, only the crunching of leaves and the distant cry of a bird any indication that he had moved. Snufkin shook his head, and set about making their campsite, gathering kindle from the surrounding tree-line.

The tent came first. When laid out side by side so close together, their two blankets partly overlapped and that too was something Snufkin was starting to get used to. They did not do it on purpose, but it seemed no matter in which position or how far apart they started, somewhere in the night they both inevitably tossed and turned until there was some form of physical contact. It was either the natural instinct to search out heat on cold winter nights or it was a smidge of comfort they would both deny themselves otherwise, Snufkin did not know. But he knew there was no helping it and as with most things in the world he could not help, the mumrik had learned to simply accept it instead.

He put his backpack in the corner, then retrieved his book. It had been a couple of days since he had last shifted the flowers and he needed something to occupy himself with while waiting for the fire to spark properly. Using a fallen log to sit on, Snufkin started rearranging the flowers that still needed a little more time to dry completely onto new pages, while putting the ones that felt rough and brittle to the back of the book carefully. Some of the older ones had creased or been crushed over time, but there was little use to hold on to the ethereal beautify of nature. They were only meant to be symbolic of memories he held dear.

Not for the first time during this journey, Snufkin wondered what Moomin was doing. Would the troll still be fast asleep, or would something have woken him, and was he having just as unusual a winter as Snufkin himself was experiencing? There would be plenty of stories between the two of them, then.

The sound of a twig snapping in half behind him nearly made Snufkin drop the book into the flames. He clutched it tighter to his chest, groaning his displeasure at Joxt managing to sneak up on him unnoticed. "You really don't make any noise, do you?" he asked, curling his tail around himself reflexively.

Joxt smirked at him with that self-satisfied delight Snufkin had come to recognize as one of the only emotions his traveling companion openly displayed. He jumped over the log nimbly, one hand holding the price his hunt had gained him, but the other one clutched into a loose fist. He indicated for Snufkin to open his hands, and when he did, dropped a handful of berries into them.

"Thanks." They were a dull blue in color and not something you could usually expect to find in winter. Either they were further south than Snufkin had assumed, or these weren't what he thought they were. "I can eat them, right."

Joxt was roasting his meat but looked up at him at those words, face back to being a blank slate. He gestured at his own palm, then held three fingers to his mouth in a familiar gesture Snufkin immediately recognized.

"I know, I'm asking if you're certain they're not poisonous. I'm assuming you're not trying to kill me."

Joxt nodded, pointing at himself and the side of his forehead with an outstretched palm.

"But how, I thought you lost your memories?" Snufkin didn't wait for an answer. He wasn't inclined to be naturally distrustful of others, unless they gave him good reason to be, and even if the berries turned out to be bad, a few were not likely to kill him. It wouldn't be the first time he had gotten sick on the road.

In answer to his question, Joxt shrugged, followed by a few more signs. _Some things stay. _Snufkin nodded. The berries were small but firm and the taste was familiar, like he had them before but didn't remember where. After finishing them he returned to his flowers, resuming what he was doing before Joxt had startled him. The man was eating his disgustingly semi-cooked meat, watching him work. He always seemed oddly fascinated by the different colors and shapes of the flowers.

With a sudden hum he caught Snufkin's attention, motioning for him to go back to the previous page. Snufkin did, opening the book slightly turned downward to reveal a pair of circular Peony blossoms with tightly woven leaves. The original deep red color had faded over time into a more brown-ish red hue that looked eerily like dried blood. Joxt stared at them intently for a few moments, before signing some more.

"This one is very pretty," Snufkin agreed with a faint smile, recalling where he had found it, "The place it grew was quite unusual. The flowers carry an important significance for humans, but I found them more special for the sights alone."

Joxt quirked an eyebrow at him. Any mention of humans did not go over well with him, which was fine with Snufkin since he wasn't exactly fond of humans himself. But the scar around Joxt's throat was visible still – would probably remain there forever – and Snufkin did not need to be a genius to realize Joxt's grudge might run deeper than tissue jaded. Deeper than he could comprehend.

He could not imagine the pain he would feel should somebody try to take his freedom away by force.

"Actually..." As he spoke, he closed the book again and set it down on the trunk. "I do think that, given the proper directions, it wouldn't be too hard for me to find that place again. It has been long since I've passed there, we could go? I'm sure you would like it."

Joxt did not give any indication of hearing his statement, stretching his long limbs out and yawning. He had pulled the ribbon from his hair and the strands hung loosely over his shoulders, longer than before. The ends were getting easily tangled, despite keeping it tied up most of the time, and there were several leaves and twigs stuck in it from their forest escapades. His hands and feet were dirty as well.

Snufkin frowned at the sight. "You're not getting in my tent like that."

Joxt froze and Snufkin could see he was inwardly debating if that was a challenge he should take the other up on. Even with their limited ability to communicate Snufkin had not taken long at all to come to know his new friend's personality as one that liked to be contrary just for the sake of being contrary. If somebody told Joxt to go one way, that was only certain to drive him in the other direction. Snufkin admired the tenacity, in the face of anybody but himself.

But he had dignity and not sharing his tent with a feral vagrant was a line he might refuse to cross. He had _some _manners.

They stared at each other for a moment, a stalemate of resolution, but one Snufkin was sure he would win. Joxt was not above sleeping on the ground, but with how chilly nights could get, even he might be ill-advised against it. Perhaps realizing this, Joxt rolled his eyes and got up to make his way over to the river. Snufkin followed dutifully, making sure to grab his bag from the tent first.

He sat on the riverbank and watched while Joxt washed himself. The man removed his hat and cape first, hanging them on a nearby tree branch. Rolling his pants up to his knees, there was some hesitation as Joxt seemed to debate on how to proceed. It only lasted for a second though, before he pulled the tattered shirt he had been wearing ever since they met over his shoulders.

Snufkin bit his tongue to not let some exclamation escape him. Joxt threw him a glance, but there was no emotion behind it. He waded ankle-deep into the river and started washing his arms. Bending over only made the welts along his back stand out more in the dimmed light cast by sunset. They were several inches long each and spread out seemingly at random, at odd intervals along the bare skin, starting from just beneath Joxt's neck to his lower sides. There was no consistency in their angle or direction, meaning Snufkin had to make little guess as to what could have afflicted them.

Adding to the other injuries, there was a grim picture forming in his mind as to the exact circumstances of Joxt's imprisonment.

The pebbles on the ground were smooth and he grasped a handful of them to steady himself. The texture was off, or maybe it was just the odd tingling sensation in his fingers. Snufkin felt nauseous. Taking one of the stones, he tossed it into the water to distract himself. Joxt looked up for a moment, then continued splashing water into his face and over his head, soaking the messy tangle of his hair as best as he could.

When he turned around to get out of the water, Snufkin finally got a look at the wound that had been bleeding the most when they met but which he never got to treat, a jagged scar that was darker than the others and badly healed. It looked painful, but Joxt gave no indication of being bothered by it anymore. Snufkin had no idea what could have caused this one, but found he preferred not to speculate any further.

"Sit down," he said around the lump forming in his throat. Joxt looked skeptical about his intentions but complied nevertheless. He was always more agreeable when he was tired, and with the evening bleeding into night, Snufkin knew how to take advantage of such things. He dug into his backpack to find the small silver pair of scissors. "Now, stay still."

Mostly used for the occasional cutting of cloth in the past, Snufkin couldn't remember where he got them from. The blade was rather dull, but he hoped it would still serve to undo some of the mess Joxt's hair had become. He pulled the locks back with one hand and, using the line of Joxt's shoulder as a guide, Snufkin carefully started cutting. It was a little trickier than he expected but eventually the job was done, if slightly crooked. Taken into account their natural curliness, how uneven it was became hardly noticeable.

He briefly used his fingers to comb what remained into a more tidy state. Joxt made a deep noise, which for a moment had Snufkin thinking he was growling again. But the purpose of the sound was something else entirely. "Sorry if it is not very adept, but it will work," he said, brushing stray hairs from Joxt's shoulder. His hand skimmed right against the bandages around the scar of his throat and this made the purring stop immediately as Joxt froze. Snufkin pulled back his hand quickly.

He retrieved the ribbon from his pocket and handed it back to Joxt, who tied his now much more manageable hair into a low plait. He pulled his clothes back on too and Snufkin laughed softly at the picture it made. "You almost look presentable."

Joxt seemed childishly annoyed at the comment and that make Snufkin laugh too. He didn't feel like getting up just yet, so he didn't. He threw another stone into the river, enjoying the way it splashed and sent little waves to the edge of the water. He had assumed Joxt would return to their campsite and maybe go to sleep early, but instead he stalked over and took a seat next to him on the riverbank. He picked up a pebble too, and threw it in such a way that it skipped on the surface once before disappearing into the current.

_Too fast._ Joxt signed, trying again with the same result. The flow was too strong to allow for the trick to work properly.

Snufkin nodded. "The river in the valley flows slower in midsummer. It easier there, I think my record is five times, from the bridge down."

Joxt inclined his head. He had never shown much interest in Snufkin's tales, but evidently felt in a more receptive humor tonight. Snufkin hadn't minded him not listening – it wasn't like he talked about it all that much – but with the orange sky fading into dark blue he was feeling nostalgic for a place he had never been and homesick for what wasn't even his home, and he didn't care if that sounded silly.

"The valley, it's where I go in spring and summer. It's truly beautiful there, quite desolate, and entirely too small to wander freely. But somehow adventure seems to find us there either way," he explained.

Snufkin turned his head to see Joxt's response. _Flowers? _he signed, one of the first they came up with together, followed by the motion of opening a book. He pointed over to the campsite for good measure.

"Some of them. But most come from other places, places I've visited. I bring them back for Moomintroll."

Joxt stared at him, his face a blank slate of incomprehension. Snufkin realized the man had probably never heard of trolls before and searched his mind to come up with some sufficient way to explain, finding none. "He's my friend." He clasped his hands together at the last word, suspecting this might be one Joxt could be familiar with. Going by the short nod he got in response, he was right.

"What about you Joxt, do you have any friends?"

Instead of answering, Joxt repeated the same gestures, but pointed at himself this time and then his eyes. _Flowers, I want to see._

Snufkin pondered on it for a moment. He knew he had said he probably could find the place quite easily given he could get a firm idea of where they were right now first, but it also had been ages since he had been there and maybe his confidence in his own navigational skills was misplaced. He only had tried revisiting spots along his past journey a handful of times before, usually with mixed results.

But if Joxt really wanted to go there – and for some reason Snufkin was feeling an odd sense of importance in returning there as well – than he was more than willing to make the attempt.

"I'll make sure we'll get there," he said firmly like maybe it could be a promise.

And when Joxt smiled that much more sincerely, then that only solidified his resolve.

* * *

**Tumblr: sharada-n**


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